The Sounds of Silence

Back in my Episcopalian days I worked in a parish that had a fine music program and a director with good sense about what music fits where in the liturgy. But I was always bothered by the absence of any music during communion. Kneeling, I could hear the sounds of feet clicking and tapping on the stone floor, and for a long time those sounds interrupted my focus on prayer.

Nowadays, I enjoy those sounds more, and less, the hymnody we have in our parish. Not that there is much wrong with the hymns themselves. What concerns me is their insertion into the liturgy during a time when we are trying, or ought to be trying to give our grateful thanks to our Lord whose body and blood we have received in the bread and wine of communion. After all, that is a magnificent moment for each one of us no matter how many times we have been a part of Mass. The spaciousness of God, his mercy, his unending outpouring of love gathered into a bit of wafer and a sip of wine so that we might , in our mortality, taste and see him, is cause for our rejoicing. Yet so often just as I am praying in adoration, or as near to adoration as I can, my senses wander to the words and music of a hymn which seem to say so little in comparison to what is actually taking place. There are some notable exceptions.

Adoro te devote, latens Deitas,
Quae sub his figuris vere latitas:
Tibi se cor meum totum subjicit,
Quia te contemplans totum deficit.

God with hidden majesty, lies in presence here,
I with deep devotion my true God revere:
Whom this outward shape and form secretly contains,
Christ in his divinity manhood still retains.

Thomas Aquinas

My elementary choirs sing these words without complaint. I think they enjoy the challenge of Latin from time to time. And Latin does somehow transport us to the beyond, or it can. I know it annoys some people, who view it and chant in general as a relic of the not so glorious past. I love chant and would enjoy hearing and singing it more often than we seem to do in our parish. But even the sung chant leaves something to be desired now a days, as it is so metrically regular and often harmonized in eighteenth century style.

Which leads me back to silence. During the week at the 9:00am Mass there is no music, and that is when I typically pray with the most intensity. I can offer my heart's gratitude without distraction, usually, though of course even then attention occasionally wanders. But the sounds of feet quietly moving in the same direction toward the body and precious blood of Jesus are no longer the distraction they once were. They themselves sing a song of love, and gratitude, not always perfectly but more so than any of us can know.

Music has its place to be sure. But sometimes the absence of music is a gift too.

Deo dicamus gratias.